‘Then they can make money other ways. Organising tours of the parks. If people see how gentle and majestic they are, they wouldn’t want to waste them any more. They’re part of what makes Africa so beautiful.’

There was a noise behind us. Maud turned and smiled.

‘Bulawayo,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think Africa’s beautiful?’

I twisted my head to look at him. He seemed even taller and firmer than when I’d last seen him. He didn’t return her smile.

‘Not for everyone, Mama,’ he said. ‘White people don’t understand Africa.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

We crossed paths outside the Carlton Grill. It was a hot January night, and a blast hit me as I left the restaurant. I paused for a moment to choose between a nightcap at The Nairobi or the Muthaiga.

My shirt was clinging to my skin, and I tugged at my collar for air. Down the road I could hear restless dogs barking, and the peacocks screaming from the Jeevanjee Gardens. Through the heat came the smell of spices and grilled fat from the restaurant behind me, and a hint of roses from the couple who had just stepped out of a rickshaw in front of me. The smell made me think of Lucy, and then, as if thinking about her had conjured her up, there she was in front of me.

She was wearing a dark green skirt suit, with a double-breasted jacket, and her hair was pinned up, making her look much older than I remembered, but the swell of her belly and the glow to her skin lessened the overall severity.

The man she was with was tall, with prominent front teeth and ears. They were laughing and he had his arm around her shoulders. They were going to walk right into me, but at the last moment I stepped aside and they went past, not seeing me.

I watched her go. Freddie had cost me her, too, but the blame didn’t lie wholly with him. It lay with me as well and my pathetic desire for acceptance. I’d used her and discarded her the way Sylvie had done to me. Even though she seemed happy I felt sticky with shame.

It was nine thirty when I reached the Muthaiga, even hotter than before, and the sky had a red tint to it. Gregory was sitting by himself at the bar, sipping whisky; he waved me over.

‘Since when did you start coming here?’ I asked him.

‘Freddie sorted me a membership a few days ago. Grand, isn’t it?’

‘For services rendered, I suppose,’ I said, turning away.

‘Stay,’ he said, catching my arm. ‘We can have supper.’

‘I’ve already eaten.’

‘Sit with me anyway – I don’t fancy going in there alone.’ He finished his whisky.

I shrugged. ‘Alright.’